Cresting atop Horse Ridge, the trail spilled on to huge chunks of granite as glorious as the view they hid behind. Golden spears of light pierced the valley before us, washing the pains of our struggle away. Dropping our packs, we scampered around a stack of boulders for a better look.
Sitting at the mouth of the valley, we examined distant structures of nature. Mt. Starr King, Half Dome and other Yosemite treasures glowed. Awestruck, not a word was uttered as the cool winds blew over the 9,000-foot ridge and across our stinging skin. Tired and hungry for a hot meal, we slipped our packs back on and searched for a campsite.
Stumbling up the trail a couple hundred feet and over another small hump, our eyes began to focus on a glimmering body of water hidden behind towering pines. Spying a fire ring and a clearing, we strolled off the trail and toward the lake.
Buena Vista Lake shimmered in the shadows of Buena Vista Peak's (2,959 meters) granite-shrouded summit.
Still salted with the snows of winter, the summit - naked of trees - jutted in to the electric blue sky. Clear and cold, the lake was just right for an invigorating dip.
Stripped down to my skivvies, Kara and Tim dared me to dive in. After shivers of apprehension cleared the mind, I bailed in. WOO HOO! HOO! My yelps, triggered by the heart-shocking cold water, echoed in the basin. After a few snapshots and laughs, it was time to eat.
While readying our camp for dinner and the night, a woman came strolling down the very path we had passed into camp. Sweaty, dirty and breathing only slightly harder than someone on an easy walk. Kate, as we later discovered was her name, was coming closer. As far as women go, Kate was a giant - an Amazon, as some say. But with the grunt of a greeting, she disappeared into the woods almost as quickly as she first appeared.
Trying to fire up the fire pit was a bit more challenging at 2,700-plus meters than at lower elevations. Banking on dry slabs of bark the last campers left in a heap nearby, we huddle around the ring with a Zippo lighter and hope. With a little wind courtesy Tim, the fire was soon in prime warming condition.
The crystal waters of Buena Vista Lake were quickly transformed into a toiling cooker for a pot full of macaroni. Tender and soaked with cheese sauce, the steaming pasta warmed our bellies and charged our spirits.
An after dinner cruise through the pines led us near to the edge of the valley that amazed us earlier. Crunching pine cones and needles covered the ground - a sign of the fearsome winters that would again blow through the Yosemite backcountry soon after we returned to metropolis. We crawled in to the tents, curling up in sleeping bags as the sinking sun pulled the blanket of darkness over another day in an American treasure.
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